Out of the Ashes
by Soot
Summary: The Great Fire is sweeping through London and, amidst all this, Arthur is missing. Francis searches for him desperately. Arthur/Francis.


Title: Out of the Ashes

Summary: The Great Fire is sweeping through London and, amidst all this, Arthur is missing. Francis searches for him desperately. Arthur/Francis.

Disclaimer: I do not own and never will.

Warning: Slash, don't like don't read.

A/N: Imaginative title, I know. I'm in love with this couple at the moment. My other story has suffered for it but I've just had to get this out my system. Oh! And this has turned out way longer than I had originally planned it.

As soon as word reached him that London was on fire, Francis felt a wave of panic run through him. When, with his own eyes he witnessed London ablaze, his heart frozen in terror.

Arthur.

Knowing Arthur he would be in there somewhere, and that only left three possibilities. Firstly, he was dead and the fire was now in the process of cremating the body of his beloved. The fire had killed and there was always the possibility that Arthur was among the dead. Secondly, he could be helping to the best of his abilities with trying to combat the fire. That though could quickly lead back to the first possibility and the close link made Francis very uneasy. The third one, though unlikely, was the one Francis favored the most. Arthur had gotten out of London. Francis knew Arthur wouldn't leave his capitol though when it was in crisis. Even if he found him amidst the chaos of screaming people and the burning wooden houses, he would not be able to convince Arthur to leave. His pleas would simply land on deaf ears.

Francis decided that the best way to start his search was to start at Arthur's house. Arthur's house was on the edge of London in a yet untouched part of the city. Francis had approached the city from that direction. Forgetting etiquette in his hast, Francis booted the door open and ran inside, hoping that the crash and his sudden entrance would alert someone to his presence.

"Arthur!" He cried in desperation into the dark, silent house. "Arthur!" Francis checked every room, wanting to make sure for definite that Arthur was not there. As he entered Arthur's bed room, he made sure to check to see if Arthur was asleep and simply not aware of anything going on. Francis wished for that to be the case. If it were so, then he would have Arthur safely with him. He wasn't there though and Francis retreated from the upper level of the elegant house back to the ground floor. He even checked the basement to make sure Arthur wasn't practicing magic and again was simply unaware of what was going on. He got no reply from anywhere in the house.

When word had reached Arthur that the fire was not contained but instead continued to rip through London out of control, he had ordered everybody in his house to leave London immediately, regardless of loyalty or the belief that the fire would be under control soon and thus would never reach them. Even Arthur himself had left, but in the opposite direction, back into London.

Francis could see the orange night sky from the living room window. He had spent many happy afternoons tormenting Arthur in the same room before making advancements that the Englishman had been secretly pleased about.

Moving back outside, Francis tried to think where Arthur would go. The Monarchy? No, the royal family would be seen to anyway and Arthur knew that. Alfred? He recalled Arthur saying that Alfred was back in his own home. Yes! That was it! Arthur had felt awful about leaving him because Alfred had welled up with bitter tears as he departed back to England.

In Francis's mind, that only left the possibility that Arthur was somewhere in London where the fire was burning through people's homes and livelihoods trying to help.

Francis fought his way deep into London. The further he got in, the more chaotic it became. He searched in the fashion of stumbling to and fro in the hope that he wasn't going around in circles and getting lost and disorientated. For him it seemed like hours, when in reality it was much, much less.

He found himself drawn to a commotion concerning a screaming, near hysterical women. It took two men to hold her back, one shouting something about what ever she wanted to do being suicide. Francis was about to turn away and discard the event in his mind entirely when numerous shouts, mainly of delight, were called out around him.

Francis watched with awe as Arthur appeared out of a smoke filled house like some mystical creature that he always talked about. In his arms he had a bundle of blankets which, again to Francis's amazement, turned out to have a baby in it. The mother ran up to Arthur and hugged him tightly to show her thanks before departing, taking the baby with her. Arthur watched her go, silently wishing her luck.

Francis's trance was broken though when Arthur's small frame was racked by violent coughing and he bent over double to try to ease it. The light of the fire danced on his dirtied skin and in his hair as he stood back up to his full height, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe again.

Francis saw Arthur was going to continue until he exhausted or killed himself. He quickly ran over and surprised Arthur by grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around to face him.

"Arthur!" He bellowed in an attempt to be heard.

"Francis?" Arthur was stunned to see Francis of all people in London at such a time.

"We have to go!" Francis told him.

"WHAT? NO!" Arthur shouted back. "My people need me! I'm staying!"

Francis, knowing Arthur wasn't going to like it, grabbed the Englishman roughly by the arm and began to drag him away. Arthur protested loudly but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the fire as it continued its rampage. In desperation, he sprung at Francis, but Francis had anticipated this and mid air, he stepped out the way before swinging him down and around, making Arthur collide into his chest. Arthur was stunned that his move had been anticipated.

"Let me go! What the fuck do you think you're doing, twat!" Arthur continued to struggle before he saw Francis's eyes. This took the anger that had built in him swiftly away and was only replaced by a feeling of emptiness. Francis's eyes burned with a fire of their own.

Francis continued to drag him away. Arthur allowed himself to be dragged, but his eyes were filled with the longing to help those around him.

Francis, with a dying need to talk to Arthur alone and away from the noise so he could be heard, looked for a dark alley but instead found an enclosed courtyard. Everyone had already left, running away from the fire before it reached them, taking many of their possessions with them.

Once away from prying eyes, the screams and the roar of the blazing inferno that was once London, Arthur was over come and dropped into Francis's arms sobbing. He sobbed because of the physical pain the fire was causing him; he sobbed because of the loss of life; he sobbed because there was nothing else he could do to end it.

His capitol was burning.

Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur tightly and lowered both of them down to the floor gently. Arthur smelt of burnt wood and ashes. Francis supposed that now he had gone running around London looking for him, he did too.

Arthur found himself sat in Francis's lap and, more surprisingly, found that he liked it. Francis was something familiar and solid, something that he could hold on to and find refuge in.

"My heart, it burns." Arthur whispered in to Francis's neck as the Frenchman rocked him lovingly in his arms. Arthur's fingers dug into Francis's clothing as the pain in his chest increased. Francis could hear Arthur grinding his teeth together with the pain to stop himself from crying out. Only the occasional whimper made it to Francis's ears.

Despite the heat, Francis's fingers were cold. Arthur could feel them on the nape of his neck before they moved up into his hair in an affectionate gesture to sooth him.

"Git." He mumbled and released the tight grip he had on the Frenchman, his chest and heart still burning as London burned, but the emotional outlet he had needed favoring him greatly. He had wanted to cry out in anguish for hours with those around him while the smoke made him cough and limit his vision. In places he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face.

Francis continued to brush his hand through Arthur's hair as it was having the desired effect of calming him. Arthur leaned back and looked Francis in the eyes. His face was covered with soot with the exception of the streaks down his cheeks where his tears had fallen.

"Why did you come?" Arthur asked in a small voice, his expression becoming one of fatigue. "Did you come to mock? To laugh as you watch my capitol burn to the ground?"

"How can you assume such a thing, L'Angleterre?" Francis asked, horrified that Arthur could even assume that. "I came to make sure you were all right."

"Pfft. Since when have you ever cared about me personally?" Arthur bit back maliciously.

"Don't say that, mon cheri. Don't ever say that!" Francis told him. Placing his hands on both sides of Arthur's face, he brushed his thumbs across the Englishman's cheeks, mixing the soot and the not yet dried streams of tears together. Arthur watched him through red rimmed eyes and despite the pain still present in his chest, a small smile presented itself on his cracked, dry lips. "See mon cheri? I do care."

Francis leant forward and captured Arthur's cracked lips with his own smooth ones. Francis discovered that Arthur even tasted of burnt wood and smoke as he deepened it, a consenting, pleasure filled moan from Arthur giving him permission to continue. All the times that Francis had made advancements on him but never followed through ran through Arthur's mind. He had lost count of how many there had been. Now, with Francis kissing him, invading his mouth and making him feel as though he was drowning in a deluge of affectionate emotions, Arthur could think of nothing else to do other than kiss back. A silent desperation clawed at him, screaming at him; 'don't miss this chance. It may never happen again.'

Francis felt Arthur press back and started to compete with him. Francis entwined his fingers in the Englishman's hair before deepening the kiss even further, making Arthur moan audibly.

Without warning, Arthur's back arched, breaking the kiss and causing Arthur to grip the Frenchman's shoulders painfully. Francis bit his lip hard.

"Arthur?" Francis fought down his fear as Arthur released his shoulder and, fighting to achieve his new position, curled up with his chin resting on his chest and his legs pulled up, his arms around them holding them in place. His breathing became pain filled gasps as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.

"The fire … it's just claimed another life." Arthur choked out, his endurance faltering

"There was nothing you could have done." Francis told him as he convinced Arthur to uncurl himself so he could lay down, guiding Arthur's head so his lap could be used as a pillow. "You can't save everyone."

"I know. I know." Arthur moaned, screwing his eyes shut and his face contorted. "But I still feel their anguish, their pain and grief." His back arched and he felt like he couldn't breath. "Francis, make it stop." Arthur pleaded. "I beg you."

Francis knew Arthur was a proud nation and would never willingly beg for something, or for that matter ask at all. What ever needed doing, Arthur tended to do it himself and to hell with aid. However, that one plea for help, the plea to make his torment stop and to end his pain made Francis believe that this must be his own personal hell. The rawness and vulnerability of Arthur's voice tore through his heart.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Arthur." Francis assured him. "The pain might ease if we get away from London." Arthur began to protest feebly, his strength vastly diminished, as Francis lifted him in his arms bridal style and moved back out into the chaos of London's streets.

Arthur gasped and groaned, his head buried in Francis's clothing so he didn't have to look at the carnage that was once his beautiful city. He could still hear the screams though.

"Do not worry my love, it will end soon. It will end soon." Francis whispered over and over to Arthur as the Englishman withered from pain in his arms. How had Arthur kept going before his arrival was beyond Francis. Perhaps it was mental? Maybe it was because as soon as Francis stopped his mind solving problems, dashing around and keeping busy, the pain jumped him and flooded his system to the point that Arthur was too weak to stand. Francis dismissed all the possibilities as he recognized that he could think about it forever and not gain any answers. The only thing worth thinking about at that present time was getting out of London alive and, somehow, relieving Arthur of his agony.

The first place that Francis could think about running to was back to Arthur's house. There were supplies and the fire had yet to reach it. He decided it would be a good place to sit and reassess the situation.

Running in, Francis quickly laid Arthur on the sofa. He was still writhing in agony and his legs occasionally kicking out helplessly. Francis got concerned as Arthur's hands started to represent something like claws which tore at his shirt and black waist coat. Sitting down next to him, Francis grabbed his wrists.

"Let me look." He spoke to him softly. Arthur swallowed and nodded.

Francis was mortified. Upon unbuttoning the waist coat and shirt, he had found not milk white skin that he had expected, but instead a red, blistering, angry burn spread across his chest. Arthur's eyes widened in horror and Francis placed a cool hand on Arthur's forehead and forced his head back down onto the cushions so he couldn't witness the burning mess again.

"L'Angleterre …" Francis breathed in shock. "Don't worry. This will be linked to the fire. When it's been put out, it will go."

Arthur inhaled sharply as Francis touched it lightly. "Don't touch it!" He barked out before apologizing.

"I need to dress it." Francis barely heard what Arthur said but instead went searching around the house for bandages. Arthur's clothing had kept the dirt and soot off the wound, and he had picked up on the vibe that Arthur was going to beat him to death if he touched it again to clean it. Arriving back at his side after destroying Arthur's kitchen in his search, Francis delicately tried to dress the wound. However, what he thought was delicate, to Arthur, seemed clumsy with the purpose of inflicting yet more pain than what he was already in.

"Stop it! Stop it! Get off me you bastard!" He tried to push Francis away with his hands. Francis fought off the physical attacks until he had finished and the bandage was tight and secure around Arthur's chest, protecting the burn.

"You did that on purpose, twat!"

"It had to be done, mon cheri."

Francis lifted Arthur up from the sofa in the same style that he had used to get Arthur back home in the first place. He received a guttural cry of agony from the blonde. With each step he took to climb the stairs, the shock of each footfall reverberated through Francis to Arthur. Arthur bit his lip hard and ground his teeth, desperate not to cry out with every step Francis now took. For Arthur, he was experiencing a living hell.

Francis, on his first visit to the house to find Arthur, had left the Englishman's bedroom door ajar. Arthur was in no fit state to notice that he had not left it like that, but Francis benefited from leaving it ajar as he shoved it open with the toe of his boot. That one over look had benefited Arthur without anyone really realizing it.

Laying Arthur down on his own bed, Francis noticed that Arthur's chin was coated in blood. Disappearing, he returned with a basin of water and a cloth and proceeded to clean the blood up. After starting and making one clean patch, he could hardly leave the job half done, especially as the clean spot now stood in sharp contrast with the rest of Arthur's face. Arthur remained motionless as Francis worked, his eyes always averted with embarrassment.

"Mon cheri?" Francis asked after several minutes of silence had elapsed. Arthur didn't reply and kept his head turned to one side so he didn't have to look at Francis. He felt so weak. He hated, loathed and despised it. "Arthur?" Francis took Arthur's chin with his fingers and turned his head so the Englishman had to look at him.

Arthur still remained silent.

"Say something, please."

"There is nothing to say." Arthur whispered. "I'm in hell. I'm in Dante's hell."

"Arthur …"

"I'm so tired, so very tired." Arthur turned his face away again.

Some time in the early morning, Arthur fell into a restless sleep. Francis remained by his side, watching the fire spread, keeping alert to make sure that he wasn't caught of guard. The fire at any time could turn and come their way, but for now they were safe and away from it. Arthur had settled enough to get some sleep, despite it being of poor quality, and Francis was left with only his mind for company.

For the remainder of the night, trying and failing to rein his mind in, Francis sat and watched the orange night sky.

2 months later

Francis trod the garden path lightly. The house had remained untouched during the fire thus Arthur had not had cause to relocate. He was pleased with that development. With him he had brought Matthew who he carried under one arm. He was met half way up the path by Alfred who seemed, to Francis's eye, to be doing laps of the house chasing a squirrel. On spotting the Frenchman, Alfred stopped and looked at him.

"Bonjour Alfred." Francis sang and placed Matthew on the floor before encouraging him to go join in and play with Alfred. "Do you know where Monsieur Kirkland is?"

"He's in the garden." Alfred's face clouded over with worry. "Something is wrong with Engwand." Alfred's eyes lit up though when he saw Matthew though. "Mattie! Come play!"

"Don't worry you're pretty little head, mon ami. I will see that Monsieur Kirkland's alright." Francis walked around the side of the house, glancing back over his shoulder to see Matthew still cowering behind his polar bear as Alfred began once again to run around in circles. "Monsieur Kirkland?" Francis called as he stepped into the back garden.

Arthur looked up from his book. He was sat in the shade of a tree, his legs crossed with a cup of tea sat on the table in front of him, his back to London so he didn't have to watch his city being rebuilt. As Francis approached, he could see that he was sat rigidly.

"Frog."

"Delinquent."

"Twat."

"Terrible cook."

Arthur smirked. "Back on equal footing. Tell me Francis, what brings you here today? Another attempt to disrupt and ruin my day off perhaps?" Arthur asked with a smile on his lips as he placed his book down on the table, his page marked.

"Do you always have such low expectations of me?" Francis jokingly asked.

"Frankly, yes." Arthur laughed. "Since you're here you might as well have a seat. Tea? Something to eat?"

"Only if you've not made it." Arthur scowled, making Francis laugh.

"Alfred?"

"I sent for him. I missed the company."

Waving a hand, Francis dismissed the previous conversation and ended the beating around the bush they were doing. "Look Arthur, Alfred's noticed something is wrong with you and it's starting to worry him. How is the burn?"

"It's fine." Arthur replied.

"Mon cheri, you are lying. For the small time I've been sat here, you've hardly moved. Is it still agony for you?" Arthur was taken aback by the blunt and direct question. Normally, he would be very defensive. However, considering everything Francis had done for him that night and the days that followed, which he had not forgotten, he decided that could at least be honest with him.

"Yes," Arthur whispered.

"Come, let me look at it." Francis stood up and held out a hand to him. Arthur looked shocked at first but decided that Francis taking a look wouldn't hurt.

Arthur grimaced at first when he stood up, but by the time they had reached the house, the pain had eased some. Arthur managed to convince Francis that he should do his little inspection in his bed room where there were no prying eyes. It wasn't the correct and moral thing to do, to strip off in the garden where people, especially women, may be able to see him. He might give them a frightful turn.

Once the bedroom door was closed, Arthur smacked Francis's hands away from his shirt and began to open the shirt himself, his nimble fingers working agilely. A new, white bandage was revealed. The bandage even wound over his left shoulder to keep the rest of the bandage in place. Arthur gently shrugged the shirt off. Francis began to undo the bandage.

"I will dress it again for you, mon cheri." Francis said as he disposed of the bandage, revealing the frightful burn. He gently pushed Arthur down so that he was laid on the bed, giving Francis a better angle to look at it with.

Arthur watched him with a steady gaze as Francis's eyes traveled his burnt chest. It had healed some, just not enough for Arthur to have full mobility of his arms back without paralyzing himself with pain. When Francis was satisfied that he had seen everything that could be seen, he bandaged Arthur up again with a fresh bandage. Stifling a yawn, Francis looked at him, his face showing amusement. "How have you been sleeping?"

"Not well." Arthur admitted without force.

"Get some sleep now then." Francis told him.

"But Alfred …"

"I'll look after him. He's playing with Matthew anyway. Besides, I think that last remaining taste bud of his is holding on for grim life." That was the hint that he would cook dinner as well. Arthur bit back the comment that his cooking was alright. "Sleep L'Angleterre, you need it." Francis drew the curtains to reinforce his point, putting the room into darkness.

"Fine." Arthur said but looked shock when Francis placed a small kiss on his slightly parted lips. "Wha…?"

"Are all Englishmen this dense?" Francis asked. "I love you, L'Angleterre."

"Well, I believe it was you who said that I had issues with getting in touch with my emotions with the exception of anger or contempt." Arthur replied.

"Oui, I believe it was me." Francis chuckled. "We will carry on with this conversation later. Sleep well, L'Angleterre." With that Francis was gone, the door closed and his footsteps fading away. Arthur laid down on his back and, forgetting to put his shirt back on to cover the bandages, drifted off to sleep.

Some hours later Francis poked his head around the door to find Arthur deep asleep, his face tranquil to the point that it would have been criminal to wake him for dinner. Francis retreated, deciding Arthur needed the sleep more than the food. He reasoned that when he woke up he would make him something.

Inviting himself to stay the night, Francis saw Matthew off to bed, but he couldn't find Alfred. Deciding to quickly check on Arthur who had not stirred since that afternoon, he poked his head around the bed room door.

"Arthur…?" He asked. Arthur looked up at him, cradling a sleeping bundle on his lap.

"I couldn't turn him away. He saw the bandages and got upset." Arthur spoke softly as he brushed his hand through Alfred's hair lightly.

"You really do have a soft spot for that child." Francis smiled. "Are you comfortable with his head resting against your chest?"

Arthur gave a little laugh. "Bit uncomfortable, but it's nothing much."

Francis sat down next to him. Arthur looked at him questioningly. "I mean what I said, I do love you. I know I've not given you much to work with in the past to reach that conclusion, but believe me when I say that I love you, and have done for a long time."

"You're right about the not giving me much to work with in the past." Arthur replied and leaned in closer to Francis. "But I would be a fool to miss this chance of getting what I've wanted for a long time."

Francis was stunned to find that Arthur was the one who initiated the kiss. "Damn L'Angleterre!" Francis said very uncharacteristically. "That was easier than I thought it was going to be. I was ready to get down on my knees."

"You still can." Arthur smirked as Francis put an arm around him..

"Papa?"

"Matthew?" Francis looked around to see Matthew stood in the door.

"I can't sleep." Matthew said in a very quiet voice.

"Come here, my sweet Matthew." Francis said as he swung his legs onto the bed and pulled Matthew up from the ground and rested him in his lap. He turned his attention back to Arthur who by this time had fallen asleep again, his head resting on Francis's shoulder.

Holding a sleepy Matthew close, who still had a hold of the polar bear he was noted for having, Francis sighed contently.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something very dysfunctional about all this.

End.

A/N: Cheesy ending!


End file.
